


Similarly Occupied, or: Le Quadrille des Lanciers

by BadassIndustries



Series: Dancing Through Life [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: A night in a Regency Ballroom, Alternate Universe - Complete Gender Equality, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Ballroom shenanigans, Betaed, Dancing, Happytimes regency au, M/M, Regency Romance, Unrepentant Fluff, period-typical homophobia? I don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 06:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13898352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadassIndustries/pseuds/BadassIndustries
Summary: Having a partner already secured before the dancing began was a sign of either great social standing or considerable personal charm. Naturally, this meant that Grantaire, technically an Honourable, but practically a wastrel, had an entirely empty dance card with no prospect of getting it filled. He is therefore most surprised when Amor himself appears, having apparently detached himself from the ceiling decorations with the express purpose of dancing the Quadrille with him...Enjolras, delicately brought up but with no desire to either court or be courted, only attends balls for the pleasure of conversing freely with his friends. Tonight however, he is determined to recruit a new acquaintance to their Society for Social Change. If the only way to speak privately is to dance with him, so be it. And what a fortunate coincidence that the young man in question is of a mind to turn their dance from a duty into an unexpected pleasure...





	1. Premier Figure, Le Tiroir

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, here is the Regency Romance I have been writing for months. The story is fully written and betaed and will post weekly. This is a parallel story for Heaven in Your Arms and takes place during the first dance of that same ball.

_~ En place pour le Quadrille ~_

_Messieurs/dames, choisissez vos cavalières…_

Having a partner already secured before the dancing began was a sign of either great social standing or considerable personal charm. Naturally, this meant that Grantaire, technically an Honourable, but practically a wastrel, had an entirely empty dance card. More’s the pity, since out of all his many and varied amusements, dancing was about the only one his mother wholly approved of. She could tolerate the fencing, painting and incessant quoting of classical literature, but she was rather less fond of the drinking, arguing, singing and basically everything else about his personality that made his personal stock on the marriage market resemble that of a middling pig farmer, instead of the eldest child of the local magistrate.

His mother however, was a determined lady who did not let trifles like a son with the charm of a particularly obstinate donkey get in the way of using her offspring’s marriage to better their family’s social position. She was therefore busily scheming behind her fan, looking for the most boring and meek person in the room, who she might overwhelm with the sheer force of her personality so that they might be dazzled enough to agree to dance with her son sight unseen. In her favour was the fact that their hosts had only recently returned to the county and had brought a party of new friends and unsuspecting victims with them. Within the crush that was part and parcel of any de Courfeyrac gathering, there were countless new faces, all of whom might fall in love with her son for his excellent dancing and high spirits, and by the time they could get acquainted with his black moods or his tendency to name each of his horses and hounds after mythological figures, they could be safely engaged, or better yet, married.

Grantaire, familiar with her ways, was badly hiding his frantic searching for an escape. Preferably in the form of a friendly face who could be amenable to dance with him, thereby thwarting his mother’s plan. He was therefore quite surprised that instead of a friendly countenance, he was faced with a rather angry looking one. Angry, and very, very beautiful. Further inspection of the tempestuous apparition revealed that, were it not for the rather fine suit and plain cravat, the figure could have been peeled of the ceiling, which was heavily decorated with cupids frolicking in pink tinted clouds. Grantaire resisted the urge to look up to see if the likeness of Amor had left his cumulous throne.

His mother, apparently not so stunned by either the beauty of the man before them, or the fact that he willingly approached them, rather pointedly introduced him. It might be possible that he had been staring for a span of time a lot longer than socially acceptable.  That might also explain how the de Courfeyrac heir was suddenly standing before them, cheerfully making introductions. The escaped Amor must be a good friend of his, since Courfeyrac did not seem to mind being parted from his crowd of admirers, or that the escapee cherub was creasing his superfine by tugging on his sleeve.

Grantaire managed to bow when his mother got to the end of his useless titles. This was a mistake, as it got him closer to cherubino made real, close enough to see a slight satisfied smile on that well-formed mouth. Grantaire was not accustomed to people being satisfied to meet him. While he was still pondering the myriad of ways this could bode ill for him, he found his company solicited for the quadrille.  That settled it. Grantaire must have met his untimely demise and had ascended into the Heavens for his eternal reward. Men with Narcissus’ beauty and Apollo’s radiance did not pull their friend  away from their flirtations to be able to ask Grantaire to dance. He accepted, of course, because he is nothing if not an opportunist.  While leading the beautiful man – whose introduction he had completely missed and who must therefore live forever under a nickname that could not do him justice – further into the ballroom Grantaire spared a thought for his sister. Poor Blanche, forced to take all his responsibilities while still in the schoolroom. Of course, even at her age she would be much more diligent and competent than her useless brother. At least she’d mourn him. It was probably the champagne that did it. It did seem rather too bubbly. Yes, most likely the champagne, poisoned by whomever his latest rant had mortally insulted. Oh well. If heaven was populated with angels such as the one currently delicately backleading Grantaire to his position in the square of dancers, he could make his peace with his untimely demise.

 

 

_~ Premier figure, le Tiroir ~_

When the quadrille was announced and Enjolras saw the son of the magistrate still standing at the side-lines, he knew to take the opportunity so perfectly presented. He had pulled Courfeyrac from his circle of foolish flirts to make the introduction because, outdated ceremony or not, social convention was the a most useful instrument to put people at ease. Both mother and son seemed rather stunned to be approached, but Grantaire (as the son was called, among other courtesy titles) did agree to dance with him. He did so with a smile that brought light to the rather curious expression he was wearing before and a bow that was too low for their comparative social positions. He also seemed to be smiling down at Enjolras’s cravat, which was quite a novel experience. Generally, his knots seemed to inspire cringing looks and despairing sighs from his friends. Courfeyrac had been too busy with his obligations as a host to force his sartorial attentions on his friend’s attire, so Enjolras was left to indulge himself in a low collar and a simply tied cravat.

He was being lead to the middle of the room, further away from where Courfeyrac would lead the dance as soon as he decided which of his current flatterers would be allowed to grace his arm. Grantaire seemed to hesitate before choosing for himself the leading or the following position, which did him credit. Enjolras gently pulled him into a leading position, since he himself was reasonably proficient in the steps of both parts. As long as Enjolras ensured his proficiency in those social arts most likely to win him a spouse, his parents agreed to leave him mostly to his studies and his friends. The gesture earned him another of those dazed but seemingly ecstatic smiles from his partner. Looking at his sunshine smile, Enjolras reflected that this dance could likely be a pleasure as well as a duty. This hope was only strengthened when their _carré_ of dancers was joined by Cosette and her scarlet robed partner. Dancing opposite one of his friends was always a pleasure, but even more so with Cosette, who was both a pleasingly light dancer and concealed a great political wit behind her flowing white muslin and carefully arranged curls.

Grantaire’s curls were rather ill-kempt, in the sort of way that would send Courfeyrac into fits of crying about wasted potential, like he constantly did over Enjolras’ appearance. When the start of the dance called for a bow his curls fell in front of his face, rather like Camilla the large poodle belonging to Combeferre’s mother which, like it’s owners, was fully convinced it is a lapdog. While Grantaire danced his part with the lady in the shockingly red gown dancing opposite him in the square the four dancing couples formed, Enjolras decided on the best course of action. As soon as the dance brought them together again, he would start to plead his case.

“Are you fond of dancing?” he asked when Grantaire returned to his side.

His partner was prevented from answering this rather banal enquiry by the crossing they were supposed to undertake. They passed rather closely past the opposite couple, both of whom took the time to send some rather piercing looks their way. Enjolras really hoped that Grantaire was acquainted with Cosette’s partner, because – unsociably silent or not – the man did not deserve to get glared at by perfect strangers. The lady seemed rather fierce and very much like she’d be able to best both of them in a duel. Enjolras resolved to ask Cosette who she was exactly at the earliest opportunity. By the time they had all returned to their original positions and it was time for the other two couples to dance, Enjolras was fairly certain the lady in crimson had trodden violently on his partner’s toes and possibly insulted his entire family. That sunny smile had disappeared and left him looking strangely mulish. Enjolras amended his earlier assessment of his partners character into ‘taciturn and also very mercurial in his moods’. Well, no matter. He seemed willing enough to listen to Enjolras, so perhaps it was merely time to get to business.

“I’ll not do you the injustice of pretending this dance was my sole motivation for making your acquaintance.”

Grantaire seemed rather unsurprised by this, but still ventured no opinion or remark.

“Injustice of any kind is my abhorrence and that is exactly why I must speak to you. It is because of your positions, and that of your parents. Rest assured, I am not here to beg for some indulgence in a ruling or to curry a favour. I merely ask you to consider joining me –and my friends– in our quest to build a brighter and more just future.”

So involved was he in trying to divine the expression on Grantaire’s face that he forgot his place in the dance entirely and missed his cue to move forward. Luckily, Cosette managed very well without him, though she grabbed his hand rather forcefully when they were to make a turn together. Fortunately she was prevented from any further retaliation by the next movement of the dance. Taking his partner’s hand anew, Enjolras took up the thread of their rather one-sided conversation again.

“There is injustice in the world, there is poverty, there is inequality. Those in power do not seem to wish to change this. I feel we can and should take matters  into our own hands. We are a society of friends, placed in all walks of life, who might one day be in a position to ring in equality and justice in our fair nation. But for this brave new world to come into fruition, we must have the aid of as many of our brothers and sisters as can be persuaded to join our cause.”

This speech did not seem to have much effect, though it did have the result of Grantaire ignoring the other pairs quite rudely. He merely stared silently at Enjolras, who took this as an invitation to continue stating his case.

“Together we can make the future one where love prevails. If we cannot influence the current regime we will, in the future, be able to replace it. Succeed it with a more just version. Be better, be kinder.”

The last notes of the piece sang along with Enjolras’ words and still Grantaire remained mute. He just stared at Enjolras, with a stupefied expression. As the orchestra set up for the second figure of the dance, his stunned face was taken over by a helpless, blindingly delighted smile.


	2. Les Lignes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lines are danced and drawn, Grantaire gets verbose and Enjolras won't let him ruin everything.

_~ Deuxième Figure, Les Lignes ~_

Grantaire focussed on swallowing every inanity his mind could come up with while the vision – Enjolras, thank the sainted heaven for Éponine – laid out his plans of how the world could be a kind and just place if only everyone joined his band of siblings and used their powers to make it so. His conviction was blinding. His angelic curls and blooming complexion were easily forgotten when competing with the certainty of the bright future Enjolras spoke of. He might speak of love, but Amor clearly was the wrong epithet. Instead, this young man spoke with the grace of Themis. Grantaire smiled, delighted. Fate, cruel as she can be, had placed this deity of hope on his arm for the full duration of this dance, and by the grace of gods both ancient and modern, he would make full use of that golden opportunity those five figures presented.

He became aware by the faint press of their hands that he had been standing there, smiling like a dolt for quite some time. Enjolras’ brow had started to furrow and he was probably wondering if Grantaire was actually mute or touched in the head. If he did not speak soon, Enjolras might get so offended by his continued silence as to leave Grantaire, stranded alone on the dance floor for all present to jeer at. On a panicked impulse, he pulled Enjolras closer by their joined hands. Being so suddenly so very close to him did not improve his judgment. He whispered the first thing that came to mind.

“Do you always talk of treason right after making a fellow’s acquaintance, or was it the sight of the flower in my buttonhole that compelled you to do so? I picked it for its simple beauty, if you looked for deeper meaning you are quite mistaken.”

Enjolras’s lashes were very dark and fine. It gave him a very striking glare. The glare, while so elegant Bernini would have wept to sculpt it, was aided by his furrowed brows and something that could only be described as a pout. It was the most endearing sight Grantaire –who prided himself on being hard-hearted and never moved by such paltry things—had ever seen.

“It’s not treason!” Enjolras hissed in his ear, while pulling him forward into the dance. He dropped Grantaire’s hand rather pettishly and made his bow in the centre of the square very formally cold. Grantaire made his in return with extra elegant flourishes to make up for the apparent insult.

This did not mollify Enjolras who, when the lines advanced, looked more like he was charging at the front of an army. This was not enough to scare Grantaire, who always liked to respond to a threat by aggravating his attacker into further violence. Catching Enjolras’ left hand and turning around him, he had the perfect opportunity to do so.

“Overturning the current regime sounds to me like a clear example of treasonous talk, but I always was stupid in my lessons, I might be wrong.”

“Seeking to influence the leaders of the land is not treason! It is politics!”

“To be sure, of the kind Brutus and Domitian would approve of.”

The lady making her _révèrence_ in the middle did so with pointed theatrics. It seemed she did not appreciate them arguing politics –or capital offenses--  in the ballroom. Grantaire tried to soften his voice and demeanour and turned to Enjolras, now stomping angrily by his side.  
“I am not about to call the guard on you for wanting to right the wrongs of the world. That is, if you are not planning on following Penthesileia further and trying for a violent coup?”

“Of course not! Any change of regime must have the support of the people. It is that support we work towards, not violence. We gather so we know the people are with us and progress will not be stopped by the rich who are afraid of losing their unjust advantages!”

Éponine’s turn in the centre prevented him from replying immediately, which was fortunate, because at that moment he was sure he would have said anything to make Enjolras continue his speech. The brief respite that forming the lines with Éponine instead of Enjolras at his side lent him gave him time to reflect. Her weight on his foot and her hissing order to “stop quarrelling with Cosette’s friend!” was enough to sober him completely. This was a lamentable fact in Grantaire’s eyes, since he did not much like being sober. Sobriety brought forth clarity, and clarity just shoved all his defects imperfections to the forefront. Which did lead to some rather pressing questions.

“But why did you approach me? Did you think I have ever striven for a thing in my life? I do not know whether to call you Pericles, Arthur, or fair Justitia, but I do know enough to call you horribly lost. You do not need me in your circle of generational hope.”

“I disagree. You are exactly who we need. A man in your position—“

“I see. It is because of dear Grandmama’s kindly passed along titles, is it. And what would you ask of me? An invitation to court? Introductions to some royal princes? Are you planning to persuade them into matrimony, take over the country entire?”

This speech, which grew more bitter with every word, did not please Enjolras overmuch.

“I would never! If you must know, I do not intend to ever marry. And I approached you merely because both Miss Fauchelevent and Mister de Courfeyrac believed that you recognise the injustice in our society and would be open to listening to us. For someone in your position, that alone is a pleasant surprise.”

Grantaire glared at Éponine, who was not at all affected. With an unconcerned air, she smoothed down her bold red patterned gown, which had drawn many an admiring look from the assembled dancers and an equal amount of whispers behind the fans of the watching chaperones. Of course his current predicament was her fault. Éponine would do anything to win Miss Fauchelevent’s favour. No matter that any fool could see that Miss Fauchelevent was just as foolishly besotted as Éponine was with her. Grantaire could see it, and he had only been introduced to her once in passing. He lived everyday in fear of hearing of the engagement and being forced to assist her in making decisions about wedding clothes. Éponine had never before relied on him when it came to matters of fashion, but love had clearly changed her. If she had dropped his name in Miss Fauchelevent’s hearing, she was clearly no longer to be trusted. Evidently. She would do just about anything, if her lady love thought it a good idea. Just because she was happy and in love Éponine thought she could sell out her innocent friends to beautiful optimistic angels filled with conviction and visons of a bright future. If Enjolras had come to him not for some mercenary goals but because he – falsely and unwisely – believed Grantaire himself could be an asset to his society, that meant Grantaire would have to disabuse him of the notion. Preferably before that  event could happen without his aid.

“Ask anyone who ever held more than three-words conference with me. I am impossible, disobliging and frequently rude. I have no hope for the future and very little pleasure in the present. Even such a one as you could not talk me into being an agreeable creature.”

This, instead of the expected look of disgust or disappointment produced a look of alarming thoughtfulness.

“So it is not that you disagree with our notions, it is that you think yourself unsuitable to join us. You may be right, if you are incapable of kindness or compassion. We will see. Join us at our salon Thursday next and we will know for sure. “

Enjolras smiled brilliantly at Cosette, opposite him in the _lignes_ for the last time, and added: “In fact, you must join us. You are now honour bound to come, as an apology for insinuating I would ever marry one of the royal family.”

“I heartily apologise for insulting your vow of chastity and your good taste, is that not enough to procure your pardon?”

“Indeed not. Nothing will do but you attending our salon until you recognise how like-minded we really are.”

”I can now tell you we are not like-minded at all!”

“Oh no? Then why did Courfeyrac think otherwise? No, I think I see how it is. I know you don’t want people to know you think your servants are equal thinking beings. But it is of no use. I know your secrets.”

This speech, paused as it was by the necessity to nod to the others joining their line, was thoroughly alarming. It took Grantaire the full length of the circling steps that were to restore them to their proper place to think of a compelling argument to leave him out of any such machinations. In the last turn of the figure he attempted to bring forth this reasoning, but his partner’s eyes were fixed so earnestly on his, he couldn’t acquit himself with his usual eloquence. He did however, display his usual habit of drowning his interlocutor in a flood of ill-chosen words. When he had done with the subject, he tapered off with a desperate “and even you can’t charm the ton into giving up their lavish ways for the good of humanity!”

It was nearly time for the next figure to start. He had not let go of Enjolras’ hands, which he had grasped to further underline his point, and Enjolras was still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, dear readers, this story is also a game of spot the Austen or Shakespeare reference.
> 
> Next up: Enjolras changes his plan of attack and has a lot of fun and the author describes even more handholding.
> 
> Please tell me what you think, comments warm my heart!  
> Until next sunday, I remain etc. etc.


	3. Le Moulinet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras tries his hand at flirtation, with devastating effect.

 

_~ Troisième figure, le Moulinet ~_

So it turned  out Grantaire could, in fact, speak. At length. Silence would have been preferable over most of what he said. Perhaps Enjolras did rather let his speech get away from him, but Grantaire had smiled encouragingly at him throughout. Like he was delighted to hear him speak and found his words very pleasant. If not for that, Enjolras would have restrained himself to only a general introduction of their society and not gone into their long-term plans. But the rather ineloquent tirade Grantaire had just subjected him to did not contain one word of negation or denial of his ideals. Nowhere in that mess of metaphors did Grantaire actually say he disagreed with Enjolras, or disliked the idea of joining him in his attempts to improve society. Even if he thought they would fail, would not the attempt on its own  be a success in itself? And Enjolras would not let something as trivial as simple reluctance to engage in a fight for what is right stand in his way.

“Let me summarise that speech: you don’t disagree that our world could do with improving. You agree that making friends with likeminded individuals can only help our cause. You would not object to spending an evening among acquaintances and new friends.  In fact, you would be delighted to be of any help, even if you believe you cannot be of help. Am I right? If I am, I believe I have proven you agree with us completely and would in fact love to join my friends at our salon. Or perhaps you are reluctant to join us because is it my company you dislike?”

Enjolras summoned a pout straight from Courfeyrac’s bag of tricks to accompany that last statement. He wasn’t such a master at it as his friend, but he managed to supress his victorious smile and look rather woeful.

“Could anyone dislike your company?” said Grantaire, quite suddenly and far too loud. The outburst seemed to surprise even himself.

“Oh yes, frequently.” Said Enjolras with a sardonic smile. “ I am called obstinate, headstrong, with overly decided opinions for my age. A favourite seems to be to call me quarrelsome and destined to be an ape-leader, although that is mostly whenever I announce my intent not to marry.”

“Are they mad? The gods themselves would crawl down their mountain to beg for your favour. Your smile could make the angels sing. I’m sure you could reconcile Hades and Demeter and bring forth a more temperate season in only one speech.”

This was very flattering, but more importantly, it showed a great flaw in Grantaire’s earlier reasoning. However pleasant it was to be told for once he was not wasting his youth and beauty and would stay on the shelf if he does not learn to hold his tongue, convincing Grantaire would be even better. Such a clear way to win the argument was most pleasant indeed.

“So you say I could persuade the gods to stop their quarrel, but you don’t think I’m convincing enough to move a few nobles to make friends with me and use their privilege for the cause?”

This piece of logic did not quite render Grantaire mute again, but it did rob him of any intelligible words, leaving him only to utter a mostly formed denial of that statement, his own words and possibly the whole of existence.

New strategy firmly in place, Enjolras turned himself to this much more pleasant occupation. Courfeyrac’s ways did have merit after all. Argument begot more argument which, while intellectually stimulating, did not help him achieve his goal. Smiling and taking advantage of the fact that Grantaire actually liked his company and was not put off by his conversation seemed therefore the much better option. And Grantaire did practically challenge him to it. He did say he did not think Enjolras could charm him into being agreeable. Well, they would see. This, as Courfeyrac would say, was going to be such fun.

Determination took over Enjolras' features. Grantaire seemed like he would have liked to take a step backwards in apprehension, but Enjolras’ firm grasp on Grantaire’s hand prevented him.  Immediately, Enjolras gentled his grip, but Grantaire did not move. Enjolras smiled and moved slightly closer. Grantaire only leaned towards him minutely.

"It is of no use denying it. You do not think our plan will work, because you think my charm is not sufficient. Apparently I am well matched to the gods but not to those of flesh and blood. You are being ridiculous and obstinate for the sake of it. Very well-" With this he smiled a brilliant smile and pressed even closer. There was some very delicate embroidery on Grantaire’s collar. It was quite distracting for some reason, but nothing could steer him from this course.

“I can be very persuasive. Let me demonstrate it for you.” He let his fingers linger on Grantaire's as he stepped into the next figure.

“No need,” said Grantaire to the air Enjolras no longer inhabited, as he was currently occupied dancing a _moulinet_. “Quite convinced already, totally behind your cause, pray don't-”

His mumbling was cut off by Éponine catching his hand and looking at him concerned. She whispered something, looking quizzical, as he guided her around. Enjolras missed his reply, but saw the pained look in his partner’s eyes when she set off again. And before Grantaire could recover, Enjolras had returned from the _moulinet_. A lifetime of observing Courfeyrac had instructed him in a myriad of ways to flirt invisibly to the eye of the casual observer. He made full use of those techniques now. Looking Grantaire right in the eye as he was guided around, he trailed his hand up Grantaire's arm delicately, and smiled a victorious smile when this made his partner widen his eyes in shock. So he had found another way to stun his partner into silence. How very pleasant. Now to find the exact combination of smiles and speech to make Grantaire feel a little more at ease.

While they were watching the other couples making their _grande révèrence_ to each other Enjolras tried a comforting smile, coupled with a squeeze of his hand to communicate he was only playing. He did not succeed to bring back Grantaire’s smile though, which was a shame. That particular sunshine smile was very pleasant to look at. As Enjolras made his bow to Cosette, he reflected that the sunshine smile had been a direct result of his opening speech. But that speech had also resulted in Grantaire’s very elaborate refusal. He was very changeable and Enjolras could not really see the logic in his reactions. But he would. Grantaire was going to be persuaded to come to their salon and Enjolras would have ample opportunity to figure him out. Too bad this particular figure needed a lot of attention and steps away from his partner, or he’d try combining the flirtation with talk of his friends. Hearing of his wonderful friends would make anyone smile.

In his second turn around Grantaire he briefly entertained the notion of slowing down and pressing back into the hand Grantaire had hovering behind his lower back. Enjolras’ dance master, who had dreadfully archaic notions, always said that that hand hovered, never daring to touch, there for the security of the delicate dancer making the turn, a silent protector. Enjolras’ rather more practical parents said it was there to stop idiots who had drank too much or laced themselves up to tight from swooning. Neither reason made it very attractive to go through with that plan, even if the idea of Grantaire’s hands on his back was intriguing.

It was quite suddenly his time to a make his bow to Cosette. While he crossed closely past Grantaire, the flustered young man uttered an unnecessarily desperate plea for Enjolras to cease his attack. He managed to be at the same time flattering to Enjolras’ person, but highly insulting about his intentions and suspected motivations. It did not put Enjolras in a very giving frame of mind. He had been rather proud of his performance. It was actually surprising how much he was enjoying this dance. Grantaire made a pleasant dance partner, light on his feet and elegantly supportive without being a directive lead. It was very wonderful that Grantaire had the first dance free. With pleasant conversation and dancing skills, he could not want for partners. Maybe that was an explanation for Grantaire’s strange behaviour. The son of a Lord, with all the usual accomplishments and a smile like that probably got hounded by suitors. Of course he would be pleasantly surprised that this stranger who sought him out did not do so with matrimonial intentions. That was probably why his speeches were met with argument, sure, but he also why he still smiled at Enjolras and encouraged him to say more. If continuously faced with obsequious suitors Enjolras would have gone mad and encouraged any kind of stimulating conversation too. But why had he called Enjolras’ mild flirtations an attack? It just did not fit. He had reacted to Enjolras’ borrowed pieces of coquettish behaviour with stunned smiles and made no attempt to dissuade him, other than that request ,he did rather the opposite. He leant into his touches and answered smile for smile. And he just kept looking at Enjolras, like he could not believe his eyes, or he was supremely interested in what he was going to do next. Which made this request all the more vexing. Courfeyrac’s beaux never begged him to stop flirting. He really wasn’t _that_ bad at it, was he?

But perhaps he had overshot the mark turning playful into pressing. Perhaps he ought to soften his manner. If Enjolras started to resemble those undeterred suitors that used to hound him when he was just out, he would have to exile himself in shame. Better to draw back a littler so as not to ruin their beginning friendship. An apology might be in order too. Enjolras really wanted Grantaire to agree to a friendship with him. He tried to communicate as much is his next turn around, but looking Grantaire in the eye was unexpectedly difficult when silent and without the cover of an affected flirtation. At least silence will communicate that Enjolras has heard Grantaire’s plea. The movements of the dance were very unsuited to the kind of apology Enjolras deemed necessary. Begging his pardon while merrily skipping around him could only make him look a fool, or worse, insincere. The thought alone made Enjolras try his most sincere and reassuring smile coupled with a press of his hand. As soon as the dancing was done, Enjolras opened his mouth to start his apology, but Grantaire was gone with a bow. Cosette’s partner had by some strange movement, dropped her fan quite near Grantaire and Grantaire had instantly moved to restore it to her. Enjolras found he quite missed the warmth of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: La Visite, and Enjolras and Grantaire finally start to understand each other.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I'm currently writing the Eposette story in this verse and could use the feedback.  
> Thanks to Freckle for the beta and to you for reading.


	4. La Visite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire accuse one another of being charming and beset by suitors and finally start to understand each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, my laptop died and it took a while to save all my files. But here it finally is, the penultimate chapter of Similarly Occupied including an Enjolrasian Apology and a lot of unconscious flirting. I will post the last chapter on Sunday :)

_~ Quatrième figure, La Visite ~_

Éponine had pointedly dropped her fan in his direction. Not being a complete muttonhead, Grantaire immediately picked it up and handed it back to her.

“Fight back R! I've never seen you be flummoxed by pretty words and fine eyes, don't let him turn you into a meek lamb now!”

Grantaire had never in his life been called meek, but Éponine’s insinuations did breathe new courage into him. He might not know what game his partner was playing, but he could still defy his plans. That was a calming, reassuring thought. This was just the gods testing him. Like Narcissus, Enjolras had sworn off love, so this sudden flirting was just to stun him into compliance. Well, he wouldn't be the first to be surprised at exactly how disobliging Grantaire could be.

”You have quite amply stated your case.” He said, as soon as he had returned to Enjolras' side.

It was still quite challenging to look Enjolras in the eye while he was sporting that arch, playful expression. Grantaire made himself do so anyway. “I see none could withstand your charm. Just smile, dear Nemesis, and all that oppose you will fall down in supplication.”

Grantaire quite fancied a sit-down himself. And some wine. And a way to quell the blush that rose up on his cheeks at the way Enjolras had started to lightly stroke his thumb over Grantaire’s fingers. It was very distracting and very soft and he did not know whether to be grateful or resentful to the gloves separating their hands. A sideway glance to Enjolras did not show the expected smug expression. He looked apprehensive, mouth downturned, like his next speech was going to be painful.

“I did not meant to cause you any discomfort. I must apologize if I have. Please accept my apologies for my behaviour. It was meant only in play.”

Grantaire’s mouth fell open in shock. Enjolras would not meet his eyes, but continued with his incomprehensible apology.

“I can see that it has discomfited you. I am truly sorry. Everyone always says I am no good at flirtation and I should not have attempted it, especially on so new an acquaintance. Even if you did challenge me to do so. I beg your pardon once more, and hope you will forgive me and not let it be a bar to a further friendship.”

With this he looked up, eyes almost pleading from beneath his curls. The light glow dancing had brought to his brow only made him look more ethereal. That such a creature had been flirting with Grantaire was almost as incomprehensible as the fact that he was now apologizing for it. Even if it had just been an idle flirtation, a response to Grantaire’s unwittingly uttered challenge.

As they moved to greet the couple on their right and dance their part with Éponine and Cosette, he turned this over in his head. From under their raised arms, Grantaire could see Enjolras looking very ashamed. Too ashamed for such light flirtation, which Grantaire had certainly encouraged. There must be more to this than just that.

“Whoever told you such a lie? I cannot believe anyone could think you aren’t bewitching! If any person ever told you you aren’t supremely charming, it is because they were green-eyed with jealousy.”

This was utterly ridiculous. Even with a face as ill-favoured as a gorgon’s, Enjolras could still charm anyone just by speaking of his sheer hope for the world. Grantaire was tempted to turn to the rest of the circle, ask every dancer in their set if they would not — as any sane person— pronounce this man the most charming they had ever seen. Fortunately the second couple coming over to make their bows and steps together stopped him from enumerating the numerous ways Enjolras’s flirtation had affected him. While crossing behind Enjolras and back, he considered his next action. Obviously setting forth on all of Enjolras’ apparent perfections would be too revealing a course of action. When they had returned to wait for Cosette and Éponine to dance with the other couples, Grantaire had leisure to look Enjolras in the eye and possibly try and expound upon his undeniable charms  some more. Enjolras seemed to be blushing, which was such an encouraging sight Grantaire could not help but press his advantage.

“It is true, you are imminently charming. And I am sorry I provoked you into demonstrating it.” The dance would not leave them much more time to talk, but he could not resist pushing a little further. “I cannot believe you are not beset by suitors every morning.”

A dissatisfied expression crossed Enjolras’ face, instead of the flattered one Grantaire had hoped for. Another misstep then, because he just had to take things further than appropriate. Of course Enjolras didn’t want to be reminded of those who pestered him with offers he had sworn to refuse. Grantaire should think of an appropriate apology as soon as possible. He looked down at their hands. There was a spot on his glove. Enjolras’ gloves were pristine and looked out of place in Grantaire’s hand. Enjolras’ voice threw him out of his grim thoughts.

“Just because it is so with you does not mean– Everyone knows I do not mean to marry. No offers have been made– Excuse me, I should not have spoken of this.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to request clarification, deny all allegations and speak a thousand doubts and thoughts besides, but Éponine had arrived in front of him, demanding his focus for their steps together. He could only dance his part in a cursory manner, half his attention needed merely to get over this shock. No one had ever offered for Enjolras? He had no suitors? But he thought _Grantaire_ did? It was so incomprehensible it nearly turned Grantaire speechless. Nearly.

“Do you delight in speaking nonsense? Do you sport with me, uttering outrageous falsehoods with an angelic voice that speaks of honesty? It must be so. I have not known you for more than a dance and I can already see that half this room would do anything to gain your favour.”

Éponine and her partner had only just turned back, but this was more important than following the other dancers closely. He pointed an exasperated nod at the fourth couple, who interrupted his increasingly loud speech.

“And furthermore, what can you mean with ‘because it is so with you’? Anyone who is not frightened off by my face will certainly run away and hide at the first showing of my personality. You have neither excuse.”

“Oh of course!” interrupted Enjolras, with a sardonic tone. “Every gentle in the country wants to court me. Who wouldn’t? That’s exactly what I’m known for, my pleasant tractable personality!” His free hand was balled at the fist. “You are quite right. My parents continually praise me for my demure personality, as it is just what will win me a spouse. The sweet softness of my character would be just the thing to entice anyone into matrimony. Regardless of my own wishes—"

“—No one would wish for demure timidity when they could choose your passion?”

“No one my parents would see me matched with, that is certain.”

The music stopped.

Grantaire suddenly became aware of how unseemly this was. From his sudden start, Enjolras realised it too. They were turned toward each-other, talking close, heads bent together so their furious whispers would not carry through the room. They had ignored the music, their fellow dancers and the very end of the figure to continue their conversation. Such indecorous behaviour and such topics could certainly bring them censure if they had been witnessed. Grantaire tried to compose himself, but couldn’t stop looking at Enjolras’ expression of glorious outrage.

“Does your mother try to force you into eligible company too?” he asked, trying to dispel the tension that Enjolras’ eyes on him unwaveringly called up in him.

“My parents have given up on me. As long as I act decorously and join Courfeyrac in society they leave me alone. Though I am sure they still hold the delusion that I will fall in love or marry. Preferably an alliance that comes with a fortune attached, of course.”

“Ha! My mother would happily marry me to the first bidder. Were the Season any more like an auction I’m sure I would already have been foisted on some poor fool too easily impressed by family history.”

“My parents spent the year before my coming out impressing on me the necessity of curbing my headstrong behaviour. With a more biddable personality they thought I would make a better husband.” Enjolras looked resigned. “People don’t want argumentative spouses.”

There was a commotion at the front of the room, but Grantaire ignored it in favour of desperately wishing the sad resignation away from Enjolras’ face. He’d thought turning the conversation to his own misfortunes on the marriage mart might make Enjolras feel more comfortable. Make him smile, even.

“People are miserable fools.”

“No. They are not.” Enjolras disagreed, straightening up with fury in his eyes. “They are merely unaccountably focused on a social tradition that encourages gentles into binding their lives together. I may not understand why every gentle seems set upon marriage, and I may lament the fact that society is hell-bent upon forcing me into social situations solely designed to entice me into matrimony, but I will never believe our fellows to be fools because of it. We all seek happiness and the freedom to share that happiness with those we love. I may not wish for marriage, but that love is the greatest thing on earth.”

Enjolras had grabbed Grantaire’s shoulder. His hand was a pressure through his coat, his eyes incredibly close to Grantaire’s in an effort to impress upon him the import of his solemn speech. His passion had Grantaire swaying with the impact of it. This man wasn’t suited to the ballroom. He ought to lead armies, to inspire sovereigns to forgo war for peace. And instead, here he was, preaching hope and love to a miserable unbeliever. They could have stood there for eternity, breathing together, had the ballroom not filled with the sound of the violinist testing his new bowstring.

“Oh,” said Enjolras, breaking his gaze. “I thought the dance was done. I forgot the fifth figure entirely.” His hand was still gripping Grantaire’s shoulder, intoxicating proximity continuing shamelessly.

“I suppose we must soon continue,” said Enjolras softly, shaking his head a little.

“Is it so bad then, to continue our dance for a while longer?”

It wasn’t such a surprise, of course. Grantaire had only managed to offend and say exactly the wrong things. Naturally Enjolras was wishing for a reprieve from the conversation.

“Oh no! I am enjoying our conversation. Pray don’t think my vehemence is anything more than relish for a debate. I do not care for balls or dancing, but I care for this conversation very much. I like your company and would be very glad of a friend who shares my views on marriage.”

The soft smile of delight on Enjolras’ face shone brighter than all the candles in the room. Grantaire found himself mirroring it, even if he could not aspire to even a fraction of its brilliancy.

“I would be honoured to call myself your friend.”

And before he could continue expounding on exactly how ecstatic he was that Enjolras liked his company, the orchestra started in again on the last part of their dance together.


	5. La Chaîne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final figure of the dance might contain too much skipping and not enough time for conversation, but Enjolras still does not want this dance to end. Luckily, he will not have to say goodbye to Grantaire yet.

_~ La Chaîne ~_

It was very vexing that the final figure of the dance could afford one so little private time together with one’s partner. It contained a great deal of enthusiastic skipping past their dance partners and hardly any moment for private conversations.  And Enjolras dearly wished to continue their conversation. He must find a way to speak with Grantaire, away from their parents’ ears. Enjolras’ parents could not know he’d been dancing with a Lord’s son, because they would hear wedding bells immediately, never mind that Enjolras had repeatedly told them he would never get married. Not even to charming young men with nice faces who thought his passion was fascinating instead of immodest.

This evening he was safe, with only Courfeyrac’s parents as his chaperones, who wouldn’t dream of informing about him. So for this evening, he could perhaps enjoy Grantaire’s friendship without the prospect of their parents’ reaction hanging over them. And Grantaire would come to the next Society meeting and they could continue their debate, and matrimony need never enter their conversation and all would be well.

The orchestra played the opening score, reminding Enjolras he had quite forgotten to take his hand of Grantaire’s shoulder or face the other dancers again. They were both late to the opening bows and had to correct hastily to join the dance properly. Enjolras had thought he had more time. He had meant to ask Grantaire once more if he could see him again. But the dance called them forth, and Enjolras only got a smile and a brief moment of holding both Grantaire’s hands before they were off, moving past each other to meet a new partner. When he was young, this was always Enjolras’ favourite part of the dance, mainly because the skipping steps made Courfeyrac giggle and jump in delight. Now the fast movements only displeased him, as he encountered Grantaire in the circle, only to be forced to let him go again immediately.

Instead of Grantaire it was Cosette, his contra-partner, who he shared a moment’s pause with as they bowed to each other, faces flushed with exertion. She sent him a searching look, but had no opportunity to speak aloud whatever question brought that mischievous look to her eyes. As he continued onwards, he felt her eyes upon him, regardless of the physical impossibility of it. He knew enough not to doubt Miss Fauchelevents’ powers. No matter that she was facing the other way, skipping along the circle and smiling at everyone she encountered, he had no doubt she could still scrutinise his every move. She always seemed to innately know when one of her friends had anything to conceal. Did she know something? She had been the one to agree with Courfeyrac that Grantaire might be a worthwhile ally. She must know. Cosette always knew. They had met in the circulating library on his first trip to London. Enjolras had managed to steal to the back of the room with some philosophical  articles that were considered far too warm for any unmarried gentle. When the proprietor came by to inspect the goings-on, ready to lecture Enjolras, miss Fauchelevent came in, distracted the owner with a brilliant smile and assisted Enjolras in switching books behind their back. When Enjolras could prove he had in fact been reading perfectly innocuous poetry and escape the scold, he had been grateful enough to join Cosette in the rest of her shopping as thanks. Ever since, Cosette seemed to have the preternatural ability to be there whenever Enjolras had something to conceal of a private nature.

She had been there when he met Feuilly via chance-meeting, she had been there when he called a Baronet Miss, she had even happened to call when Enjolras received his first overhasty suitor. And now she was here, grinning at him while he was trying to keep Grantaire’s attention fixed on himself. A feat he was once more succeeding in, as the _chaîne_ had come to an end and they were restored to their original positions. As long as the dance lasted, he would have Grantaire’s attention. Grantaire had frequently ignored the other dancers to smile at Enjolras, he continually leaned in, like he couldn't bear to lose sight of Enjolras and only wished for him to stay close. He only spent the necessary attention to perform the dance properly, but his focus stayed on Enjolras. It was an intoxicating feeling. Enjolras wondered what it would be like to dance with him alone. To be so close without all the other couples mirroring their steps and needing their attention. What would the hand in his feel like in a different setting? What would holding his hand feel like outside of the ballroom?

As Grantaire conducted him around the circle and to his position in the lines they were to form, he glanced back at Cosette. He just saw the knowing grin Cosette was hiding behind her fluttering fan. It flustered him so much he nearly forgot to let go of Grantaire's hand. Or perhaps it was Grantaire who held on too long. Grantaire’s mind was clearly even less attentive to the steps of the dance than Enjolras was currently capable of being. It seemed his mind was occupied with far pleasanter things, because Enjolras’ apologetic  glance was only met with another one of those dreamy smiles. It was very near those unfocused, dreamy looks Grantaire sported at the beginning of their dance, but these smiles were much more pleasant. Or perhaps more interesting. Enjolras wished he could ask Grantaire why exactly he was smiling so much. What were the pleasant thoughts that lit up his face as though the sun had come out this evening just for him?

Whatever it was, Grantaire was so much engaged in gazing at Enjolras like he had brought forth all that was beautiful in the world, that he completely neglected to greet the leading dancers who lined up behind him. Enjolras' bow to him was enough to set him in motion again, but he looked dazed enough Enjolras made sure to discretely point him in the correct direction. To his partner’s credit, the direction was unnecessary. When they had both circled back to their new line Grantaire had shaken off his daze and made up for it by advancing with a pleasant smile and a nod for every dancer he encountered. The lines of leading and following dancers advanced opposite each other, giving Enjolras no opportunity to escape Cosette’s bright smiles and very unsubtle gestures towards Grantaire and himself. It seemed she had caught wind of at least part of Enjolras’ feelings and was feeling a delight that would surely be deemed indecorous by the aging chaperones looking on from the sides of the room. No doubt she would contrive to come find him later and wiggle out every detail. He was sure the blush on his face was clearly visible and he could only be thankful that Courfeyrac was not in their circle to quiz him about it. Fortunately the dance did not leave time to dwell upon any embarrassment, as they had to move back to their original positions in the _carré_ to repeat the movements that made up the refrain of the figure.

Because of their place at the start of the line, going back to their original positions did not take as long for them as for the other couples. This meant they could steal a moment for a few words and a shared smile, hands already clasped for when they must set off again. But the brief reprieve did not allow for more than that. Before more than a smile and the start of a wish for a continued friendship could be shared, the music called them on again. The constraint the dance put upon their conversation was really the most frustrating thing. Before Grantaire could even begin to formulate an answer, the dance pulled them along to once more skip through the _chaîne_ the figure was named for.

Dissatisfaction ran through Enjolras while he danced through the circle and the lines. Since he had had his moment at the front of the line, it was now time for an other couple to lead the lines. This meant that he ought to have had the time to speak to Grantaire. But his partner was separated from him by the dance, stuck in the  wrong line, too far away for private confidences. And even speeding through the dance, hoping for its end, would not ameliorate the situation, because as soon as the music stopped, Grantaire had to be restored to his mama. For a moment Enjolras longed for the boldness to ask Grantaire to join him on the balcony, away from the crowd. But that would not do. The slightest whisper of scandal and Grantaire’s parents would start banding about terrible words like ‘compromised’ or ‘indecency’. Enjolras had no great fortune, but his connections and his position as his parents’ only child and heir might be enough for their parents to insist upon the match, regardless of their children’s wishes. And besides, chances were that, were they to venture onto the balcony, instead of private and calm they would find Courfeyrac and Combeferre, valiantly making up excuses as to why exactly they were in each other’s arms.

While following the intersecting lines, Enjolras could catch a glimpse of Combeferre dancing in another _carré_ further up the room, having a passionate conversation with over half the dancers there. Enjolras smiled. Combeferre never did care much for social convention when he got carried away with an engaging subject. Luckily, he was so amiable that even the sternest matron would forgive him for not tipping his hat to her when caught up in a particularly interesting subject. His affable smile enhanced by Courfeyrac’s angelic demeanour got them out of a lot of scrapes when they were still in shortcoats. And he always made up for any slight by giving his conversational partner his full and complete attention. At least Enjolras' friends were enjoying their evening, Combeferre with his lively debate with his dance partner and the other couples. No doubt Courfeyrac was diverting himself and half the room at the same time with his elaborate flirtations. Cosette, having ceased her inquiry into Enjolras’ affairs, had returned to making moon-eyes at her own partner.

So it was only Enjolras who danced the steps with the bad grace of one who would soon be disappointed. Or perhaps if he was lucky, he was not the only one. Dancing through the refrain a third time, it became apparent that Grantaire felt disappointed or discomfited too. He shrugged his shoulders as if his fine coat was too confining, balled his fists when not called upon to escort Enjolras, and sly gazes in the looking glass Monsieur de Courfeyrac insisted upon confirmed that he seemed to mumble to himself whenever Enjolras ought not to have been able to see it. Grantaire seemed to be embroiled in some kind of internal debate. Enjolras could only hope his displeasure sprang from the same source as his own. Perhaps Grantaire was, like Enjolras, working up the courage to ask permission to call. Or to meet in town, where their parents could not see. Or any manner of ways they could possibly see each other again.

This pleasant prospect, coupled with the accelerated tempo of the dance made Enjolras laugh merrily as he danced along the circle, catching hands to move past the leading dancers. He made sure to send Grantaire a bright, bold smile in passing. Cosette was too occupied admiring her own partner’s scarlet clad figure to do more than curtsy distractedly at Enjolras, so nothing could break his newfound good mood. Skipping on with a quickening heartbeat he allowed himself, upon reaching Grantaire, to perform his silliest bow, just to make Grantaire laugh too. Before forming the end of the line, he boldly took both Grantaire’s hands in his and pressed them with a bright grin. There could be no doubt of his intentions now. The dance might end, but Grantaire would come find him again.

During the crossing of the lines Enjolras inspected the other dancers for any sign they had seen his small, defiant act of impropriety. All faces seemed  clear of any accusing looks and every gentle seemed much too consumed with the fast-paced steps or their charming partners. The lines retreated, the music swept up and every dancer ran towards their own partner to finish the dance.

Enjolras found himself suddenly in Grantaire's arms. Never before had the polka seemed quite so close. They whirled around, faces so close they might have touched, had that been permitted. Grantaire guided him through the steps gently, but so securely he could have closed his eyes without fear. The hand on his waist, the pressure in every turn, the feel of Grantaire's shoulder under his hand, the look in his eye, it was all suddenly intensely all-consuming. And yet he could move almost effortlessly, so perfectly did Grantaire match his steps. They followed the music, whirling around faster and faster, until the room blurred and the only thing in focus was his partner. With breathless laughter they looked into each-other’s eyes and came abruptly to the sudden stop when the music ended. Enjolras' turn was so wild, Grantaire had to keep hold of both his hands to keep him balanced. Without the music, holding his hands in his was suddenly so much more intimate. Enjolras straightened again, but with their hands linked Grantaire was still so very close, and smiling breathlessly up at him through his curls.

They stood, hand in hand, reluctant to part, until the crowd of dancers leaving the floor forced them to. As if waking from a dream, Grantaire straightened, shook his head lightly and escorted Enjolras back to the side of the room. He tried to restore a seemly few inches between them, but Enjolras did not seem to care much for propriety right now.

“Do you—“ “Courf—“ they started at the same time. Since Grantaire did not seem likely to follow up on that, Enjolras took the opportunity offered to him.

“Courfeyrac always teases me if I don't dance at least half of the evening... would you perhaps like to—“

“Please!” said Grantaire, before he could finish his request. “Any dance you want, though I don't suppose you have any free.  I'd love a country dance. Or a minuet? Of course you don't have to…"

"I was thinking," said Enjolras through the numerous dances Grantaire was summing up, "perhaps the waltz? If you would be amenable to that?"

"Yes of course! It would be my delight! But why the waltz? That will be such a long wait. The Sarabande will be before dinner. Not that I mean to seem impatient." said Grantaire. He was blushing, but the sunshine smile was back. It made Enjolras feel brave enough to take a chance.

“I thought the waltz would afford us more opportunity for private conversation."

They had nearly reached Grantaire's mother, in deep conversation with another chaperone. Seizing the moment, he pressed  Grantaire's hand, stood on tiptoe and whispered: "I would prefer the waltz over a Sarabande, because the Sarabande would not give me the opportunity to be in your arms again.”

Feeling shockingly forward, he bowed to Grantaire and his mama, ran off hastily towards Courfeyrac, and hid his blushing face in his laughing friend's shoulder.

~ _Fin_ ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh it's finally finished! I'm so excited to see what you think of my darling boys finally understanding each other!  
> As always many, many thanks to the incomparable Sunfreckle for the beta and the encouragement.  
> And thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos or a comment, they made my day!  
> I'm not done with this 'verse yet! I've got a short morning after the ball-scene written, which will most likely appear on[my tumblr](http://badassindistress.tumblr.com/) first.  
> Currently I'm writing a Sapphic Regency Romance starring Éponine and Cosette including mistaken identities, dramatic use of ribbons and graphic descriptions of dresses brushing against eachother as they dance.  
> Is there anything you'd like to see in this verse? Let me know in the comments or on tumblr!
> 
> Writing this story has been a delight, thank you for sharing the experience with me.

**Author's Note:**

> A flood of thanks for Sunfreckle, who got me invested in this story by talking of Bahorel having a great understanding of muslins and Courfeyrac driving a very knowing gig, none of which made it into this story. And then she put up with me whining about how long this was going to be for months and even betaed the whole thing. Love you sis!
> 
> And fond appreciation for Adorablecrab and TheLordofLaMancha who both convinced me to continue the story.
> 
> There are many versions of the Quadrille des Lanciers, this is the one I can dance. If you really want to see it done live, this [Bal de Polytechnique video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwTQKiBdmEk) comes closest, but should be danced faster and with a lot more joy.  
> I have some more snippets in this verse written, those will appear on [my tumblr](http://badassindistress.tumblr.com/) first.
> 
> Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think! Especially if there was something in this verse you'd like to see, because I'm definitely not done playing in this world. All comments mean so much to me!


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